


Somewhere Else The Tea's Getting Cold.

by Mireille



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: 5 Times, Community: maleslashminis, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-10
Updated: 2007-06-10
Packaged: 2019-03-17 23:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13669254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Five times Xander and Giles kissed for the first time.





	Somewhere Else The Tea's Getting Cold.

**Author's Note:**

> "Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice, somewhere else the tea's getting cold. " - _Doctor Who,_ "Survival"

  
"We don't want you to end up with two fronts, now do we?"   
  
Xander blinks at Willow for a second, not quite able to formulate an expression of just how  _not funny_  it is to be joking about this right before she puts the two of them--the two of him, whatever--back together. And then he realizes that this is it. Willow's going to put them back together, and everything's going to get back to normal, and if he can be the kind of guy who gets promotions and decent apartments and stuff, then it turns out that he has  _no idea_  who he really is, or what "back to normal" should look like.   
  
He takes a deep breath, feeling like everybody's looking at him. Which they are, of course, because there are two of him, and Willow's about to put him back together. Of course they're watching. "Wait," he says, suddenly, and hears the other him groan.   
  
"You're  _not_ ," other-him says, and he nods. Other-him knows what's going on, of course. They talked about it a little in the car over here, and they decided--one of him decided--that it would be a very bad idea.   
  
The thing is, he's not sure it is. And maybe just because other-him seems to have most of the brains, that doesn't mean he's always going to be right. Especially about stuff like this, which is less about thinking and more about... _wanting_  something.   
  
He darts out of the circle then, over to Giles, who's watching him with the same sort of puzzled look everybody else is giving him. Xander thinks maybe he should have some kind of speech prepared, some line that would sound good when one of them looks back on this.   
  
But he doesn't, so he just kisses Giles--lightly, and too quickly for Giles to do anything but stare blankly at him, completely confused.   
  
Xander, for the first time in a long time, is anything but confused. Everything makes sense now, even if it looks like Giles may need it explained to him once this is all over. He steps back into the circle, nodding to Willow. "Do it," he says, and when she tells him to, he closes his eyes.   
  
When he opens them, the first thing he sees is Anya, biting her bottom lip and looking hurt and bewildered, and he realizes what he'd been trying to tell himself.   
  
There's only one of him now, and it seems kind of unfair that he has to take the blame for something stupid only half of him did.   
  
But life, it turns out, is pretty much unfair, even when it starts to make sense. Maybe  _especially_  when it starts to make sense.   
  
He looks over at Giles, who still looks a little shell-shocked. Possibly overwhelmed by the sheer force of Xander's studliness, but probably not. "I think," he said, trying to sound more like the half of him who got the promotion and less like the half who spent the night in the dump, "we should just forget all about that."  
  
He can't bear to look at Giles after that--is afraid he'll change his mind, for one thing--and so he turns and walks out of the Magic Box with Anya following in his wake.   
  
  


***

  
  
"You're going back to England." It wasn't a question, but God, Xander wishes he could make it into one:  _What can I do to convince you to stay?_  
  
"I'm going into the kitchen," Giles replies, and he does, carrying his mug and Xander's water glass to the sink and turning on the faucet to wash them.   
  
 _Don't,_  Xander wants to say.  _Don't turn this into a joke._  But he doesn't, because it's perfectly reasonable for Giles to be going back to England. He's here because he's Buffy's Watcher, and there's nothing for him to watch now. Wherever Buffy is, Xander's pretty sure she's not slaying vampires any more.   
  
Giles has never said this is permanent. Never said he likes California, never said he likes  _them_ , even if Xander's convinced he does, at least a little bit. He  _acts_  like he likes them. But Giles hasn't said anything, and so there's no reason for Xander to have ever hoped that Giles would stay. That nothing else was going to have to change, at least for a little while.  
  
"You weren't going to tell us?"  
  
"Of course I was," Giles says, and at least he's not pretending he has no idea what Xander's talking about. "But I'm not leaving yet, and there's no point in dragging out the goodbyes."  
  
"Yeah," Xander mutters. "God forbid one of us should do something like, oh, ask you not to go."   
  
There's a moment where Giles is silent, where the water running into the sink is the only thing that Xander can hear. And then even that stops, and Xander hears the clink of the glass in the basin before Giles turns around.   
  
He's drying his hands on a dishtowel. It has a chicken on it, and Xander remembers taking Dawn to the mall to buy Christmas presents three winters ago. Except, of course, that he never did that, even if the towel is there as evidence.   
  
Xander's in the kitchen before he can think, taking the towel out of Giles' hand and putting it on the counter. And then he's kissing Giles, his hand curled around the back of Giles' neck, holding him close as their lips crush together. Giles' arms are around him, his hands broad and warm on Xander's back, and Xander thinks this is--this has to be--a reason for Giles to stay. Now that he knows, now that he understands, he's not going to go anywhere. Not if he's kissing Xander like that.   
  
And then Giles is pushing him away--gently, but firmly--and Xander is looking at his shoes, the refrigerator, the chicken on the dishtowel, anywhere but Giles' eyes.   
  
Maybe it doesn't matter what actually happens, Xander thinks. Maybe the only thing that matters is what they remember.   
  
And what he's going to remember about today is the flatness in Giles' voice when he says, "This can't happen, Xander," and not the way it breaks as he adds, "I'm sorry."  
  
  


***

  
  
This is a bad idea.   
  
It won't be his first, of course, or even the first one tonight. He's spent half the evening at the foot of the stairs, glaring up at teenaged girls with one finger on his lips in the international sign for "Shush," and they all think he's insane.   
  
He might be, but Giles fell asleep with a book in one hand and a pen in the other, and if he's that tired, Xander's not letting anyone wake him up.   
  
It's not like it's going to do a lot of good, anyway. Xander doubts that a couple hours of research are going to make the difference in the fight against the First Evil. None of the research they've done before tonight has been much help, after all. They might as well let the guy face certain death well-rested.   
  
Giles has been looking tired lately; tired and old--Xander knows Giles isn't exactly a young guy, but he's never looked  _old_  before just recently. Not even the summer when Buffy was dead, when even Xander felt old.   
  
Xander can't do anything about that. Giles isn't a broken window or a damaged piece of furniture. There's nothing Xander can do to fix him, and he doubts Giles would thank him for trying, or for wanting to.   
  
It doesn't matter. No matter how self-centered he can be, he's not going to argue that a dumb crush is more important than the end of the world. And if by some miracle, they don't die, Giles is going to go back to England, and Xander isn't going to see him again. So it ends here, one way or another, and Xander's accepted that.   
  
He's been doing a lot of that lately--accepting things. It's too bad, really, that he waited until just before the Apocalypse to start getting his head on straight, but hey, at least he won't be dying  _confused_.   
  
Not confused. Just very, very alone.   
  
He sits down on the couch next to Giles--carefully, trying not to wake him--and studies Giles' face for a minute, the way he's done hundreds of times in the past. The way Giles has carefully pretended not to notice--because he's a Watcher, isn't he? He's supposed to see things, and if he doesn't, it's because he doesn't want to--hundreds of times before now.   
  
Giles is asleep now, so he'll never know.   
  
And he'll never know that Xander leaned over and brushed his lips against Giles' temple, softly and quickly, before straightening up and settling back against the couch.   
  
Willow's at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide with surprise, and Xander feels his face get hot, hears his heart pounding in his chest. If Willow tells Giles what she saw, it's going to make it impossible for them to work together--and that might be okay, six months from now, if they're still alive, but right now, they  _can't_  do that. They need Giles too much, and Xander needs to help, can't sit back and let his friends risk their lives without him.   
  
But Willow just gives him a sympathetic smile, and puts one finger to her lips in the international sign for  _Your secret's safe with me_.   
  
  


***

  
  
"What were you even thinking?" Xander splutters. It's childish, but he wipes his mouth on his sleeve anyway. He wants to be childish, right now. He wants to be small and petty and as nasty as he can possibly be. He wants everybody to hurt as much as he does.   
  
And then it's there, a brief flash of guilt and self-loathing in Giles' expression, and Xander feels ashamed of himself. Still angry, but ashamed. Giles was only trying to help, even if Xander isn't sure how that was supposed to help  _anything_.   
  
"I wasn't," Giles says quietly. "I'm sorry."   
  
"Anya hasn't even been dead for twenty-four hours!" Xander yells, and then remembers that the walls in this motel are thin; he's already heard two of the girls having a loud argument over which of them gets to take the first shower. Every word he says will be common knowledge an hour from now.   
  
Right now, he can't bring himself to give a damn.   
  
"I know," Giles says. He doesn't point out that Xander and Anya broke up over a year ago--never mind what happened night before last, because that wasn't about getting back together. That was about not wanting to think about how they could all be dead in the morning.   
  
And maybe, Xander thinks, in the part of his brain that's still ashamed of himself for shoving Giles away, for scrubbing at his mouth like he's just tasted something nasty, this is about Giles not wanting to think about everyone who  _did_  die yesterday. Or about Giles wanting to help Xander shut his brain off for a few minutes, to help him stop thinking that if he hadn't run out on Anya at the wedding, she'd have been with  _him_ , not Andrew, during the last fight, and maybe he could have saved her.   
  
But Xander's angry, and he's scared and he's tired and his head is aching again and his prescription is at the bottom of a sinkhole, along with his  _Babylon 5_  commemorative plates, the remains of his eye, and oh, yeah, the woman who, just last year, he'd been planning to spend the rest of his life with. He doesn't want to be fair about this. He doesn't want to be fair about anything.   
  
Why should he? It's not like life has been all that fair to  _him_.   
  
And so when Giles sighs and apologizes again and says, "I'll ask Andrew to trade rooms with me," Xander just nods vehemently.   
  
"You do that," he says, even though Xander hasn't been able to look at Andrew since he told Xander what happened to Anya.   
  
He doesn't say anything else, but when Giles leaves the room, he wipes his mouth with the back of his arm again, trying to make himself forget how much he liked the feeling of Giles' mouth against his.   
  
  


***

  
  
Xander could stay in a motel when he's in England, but he doesn't. Giles has plenty of room at his place, and Xander likes the company. He's alone too much as it is.   
  
Giles doesn't say anything, but he doesn't complain, and so Xander thinks he must like the company, too.   
  
In four years, they've built up a routine for Xander's visits. Day one is for official Council business; Xander spends most of his time at work, giving reports and filling out paperwork and straightening out all the messes that have happened since he was here last, like why he suddenly has negative nine hundred and seventeen vacation days. That first day, Xander usually has dinner with Dawn, if she can come down from Cambridge--she thinks Giles may never forgive her for not going to Oxford, even if Xander tries to tell her how proud Giles is of her--and maybe some of the Slayers who were in Sunnydale. It's for catching up with other people.   
  
The second day, Xander sleeps until noon, and spends the afternoon watching TV. British afternoon TV isn't much better than it was back home, but he doesn't  _have_  a TV set most of the time. He's never in one place long enough. So he'll watch just about anything, really, although he draws the line at cricket. Television is not supposed to be confusing.   
  
Giles always cooks on that second day, although it's never anything fancy: bacon and eggs, soup, something that he can make in a few minutes with Xander hovering over his shoulder. Xander likes to hover. He likes being around Giles, who is comfortable and familiar and not, in any way, educational.   
  
A lot of Xander's life has been "educational," the past few years, and he's had about his limit of education. Especially when it's in the area of "things human beings can do to one another, because obviously, demons are  _amateurs_."  
  
Giles isn't educational, and Giles isn't disturbing, and Giles doesn't give him nightmares. Giles is just Giles, wearing a slightly ratty blue sweater as he cooks eggs. His glasses are off; work must have given him a headache, because these days, Giles wears his glasses all the time, otherwise. He'll have to ask Giles about it later tonight, after dinner.   
  
After dinner on the second night, they always go into the living room. Giles drinks tea and looks at the newspaper, and Xander drinks coffee and watches the news, and sometimes changes to a soap opera, just to see how long it takes Giles to look up from his paper and give Xander an annoyed look.  
  
Xander could get to like this, he thinks; if he got transferred to England, maybe he could just move in here. Pay half the rent, and spend most of his evenings here, on this couch, seeing if he could get Giles to give him that look again.   
  
Maybe, though, it would get boring. Maybe the routine is only comfortable because it happens every now and then. Every six weeks or so, this is okay; every day, and they'd probably get sick of it.   
  
Maybe doing the same thing every night isn't healthy. Even if it's not "every night," and is only "most nights when Xander's in England." Maybe things ought to...change, or grow, or... something.   
  
And maybe, Xander tells himself, he's had way too much time alone lately, and he needs to stop thinking so much. He's not seventeen any more, he doesn't have to daydream about his high school librarian, and this, what he and Giles have now, is better anyway. Friendship lasts a lot longer than romance does. He should know that better than anyone.   
  
But when Giles looks up from his newspaper to give Xander a look, Xander realizes that if he doesn't take this chance now, he never will. And, on the heels of that, realizes that he's going to regret it if he doesn't, no matter how it turns out.   
  
So instead of picking up the remote again and changing the channel away from  _Coronation Street_ , Xander slides closer on the couch, pushing the newspaper out of the way so that he can kiss Giles.   
  
Giles doesn't seem surprised, or angry, or any of the things Xander's been imagining. He seems... happy, really, if the way he's cupping Xander's face in his hand, thumb stroking softly over Xander's cheek, is any indication, and what Xander had expected to be a hit-and-run kind of kiss (emphasis on the  _run_  part), goes on until the two of them have to stop to get their breath.   
  
The TV stays on half the night, Giles' tea gets cold, and at some point, Xander's coffee cup gets knocked over, soaking tonight's newspaper. They don't notice until later, though, because Xander is busy revising his opinion about Giles, who's turning out to be educational, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](https://mireille719.tumblr.com)


End file.
